


Halloween Drabbles

by Quiet_Shadow



Series: Prompts and Bunnies [6]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 04:55:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 11,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5116337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quiet_Shadow/pseuds/Quiet_Shadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Halloween-themed stories, from the happy, silly ones to the darker and creepier ones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1. Ghost - TFA

**Author's Note:**

> Hello; here's my participation to the Halloween month, following the themes of the Drawlloween challenge. You can also find them on my tumblr account.

Prowl is still here, still around. Optimus doesn’t know how, but he is; the Prime is sure of it. However, he doesn’t dare to say it aloud, for who would believe him? They’d say Prowl is long dead, his body laid to rest in one of Cybertron’s crypts reserved to the Autobots’ greatest heroes.

And they would be right, of course; Optimus himself helped carry the body in the procession, and delivered the eulogy at the grandiose funerals organized for their fallen friend.

But still… Prowl was still here. Optimus could see him from the corner of his optics, a pale, translucent, blurry figure that disappeared as soon as turned his head to try and get a better look. He could hear the Cyber-Ninja hum as he meditated, working on his processor-over-matter techniques every solar cycle as Prowl always used to.

He could feel featherlight touch on his body whenever he laid down and shuttered his optics, waiting for recharge to claim him.

And he could feel the softness, the heat of living, warm lips over his own when he sighed Prowl’s name.

But of course, whenever he lighted them again, only the void and cold greeted him.

Ghosts weren’t meant to be seen by the livings, after all.


	2. 2. Devil - G1

“Ready to accept my proposition yet, oh mighty Lord?” the overly sweet, seductive and yet screechy voice purred at his audio receptor.

Megatron’s shoulders squared. He didn’t bother asking how his ‘visitor’ had entered his quarters, when in all logic he shouldn’t have been able to. The door was locked under three different levels of security, there was no window, and the ventilation shafts were too small to allow even a Cassette to pass through -- a precaution Soundwave of all mechs had insisted on, arguing a Mini-Cassette assassin could have easily slipped in with none of them the wiser.

“You again. When will you leave me alone?” the grey mech rumbled, shuttering his optics briefly.

“Hmm, a good question. But you know the answer already, do you not?”

There was a movement besides him, the fleeting impression of weight was added on his desk and with an heavy Spark, Megatron lighted his optics again, glaring at the red, winged figure now sitting cross-legged over a corner of his desk.  
“I do. And I won’t sell you my Spark.”

A screechy laugh answered him. “Is that so? Weren’t you the one who swore he would do so, in order to lead your troops to victory and overthrown the corrupt Senate? What do you call them again, Deceptibots?”

“My DeceptiCONS will win without your help!” the ex-miner glared as he rose.

The being on the desk made a show of examining his digits -- his claws, really. A hint of a fang peered through the smirk on his face. “Keep telling yourself that, little miner who wants to be a warlord. But you will be up against a Chosen of Primus, a divine avatar of righteousness, inspiring the masses to rally to him and stomp you back into the ground and underworld you should have never left. Without, ah, my influence, do you really think you stand a chance? I could give you so much,” the voice almost cooed. “More soldiers, more influence, more power, more weapons. Your victory would be total, the old regime overthrown, and your vision of a fair, saved Cybertron would become real.”

It was tempting, oh so tempting. But there was a catch. There was always a catch.

“All you would need to do, sweetling, would be to give me your Spark in exchange.”

Megatron glared and didn’t answer, turning his head away with a huff.

“Stubborn, hmm? But nevermind that. Sooner or later, you will bow and accept my deal.”

“You can’t be sure.”

“Oh, but I am,” the red entity chuckled. Wings flapped in the air. “You invoked my name with enough force to summon me, after all. And I never, ever go back to my lair without a bounty.”

Megatron growled and moved to hit the entity. His fist went straight through it, as if he had just punched thin air. The screechy laugh faded to the wind, and Megatron’s shoulders sagged.

Had he known calling out the Devil’s name was enough to make him come, he would have never done so.


	3. 3. Goblin - G1

Onslaught stared at the scene before him for a moment before he started to rub his temples to fight off the coming processor ache -- which wasn’t helped by the fact that, through the gestalt link, he knew Blast Off was currently drowning his sorrows in high grade and doing a pretty good job at going overcharged.

“Okay, I know I shouldn’t ask, but why is Swindle currently laughing his aft off and rolling on the floor? Vortex? Brawl?”

“Don’t ask me, I wasn’t there when it started,” the copter shrugged. Onslaught raised an optic ridge at the faint traces of freshly spilled energon marking his teammate’s frame, but made no comment. Whatever Vortex did in his spare time didn’t concern him -- so long he wasn’t getting him in trouble with Megatron.

He turned toward Brawl with a raised optic ridge, tapping his pedes on the floor.

“Uh, you remember that very lucrative deal he was supposed to have today with that certain human we’re not supposed to speak about or even know?”

Onslaught grimaced; yes, he remembered. Here was another side activity of his group he could have afforded not to know. Then again, given Swindle had proven he was able to sell THEM and their body parts for credits, they had commonly decided that all of Swindle’s future business transaction should and would be closely monitored.

“Continue,” he said in a clipped tone.

“Well, that human, he had some of his young with him. Very tiny ones, I didn’t know humans came in such small models -- and apparently, they come even smaller, can you imagine?” Onslaught grunted. He didn’t care much for humans, and for their young even less. He nodded stiffly, beaconing Brawl to continue. “The thing is… you know Swindle, he can’t stop haggling to get prices down if he can help it. And you know he starts smirking and rubbing his hands together when the deal is starting to look good? They were running a pretty tight deal, and then the kids piped in. And that’s what I don’t get,” he confessed. “They asked Swindle if he was some kind of ‘goblin’, whatever it was, and he started laughing like crazy.” He looked at the still laughing jeep. “And he still does.”

Onslaught tilted his head to the side, running a search mentally for a definition of ‘gobelin’, whatever it was. Hmm. ‘Legendary evil’, ‘small monsters’... No, he didn’t get it either. That’s it, until he stumbled over the words ‘greedy, especially for gold and jewelry’.

Ah. Well, when looked under that angle, it did made some sense… and explained Swindle’s continued hilarity.

His lips quirked into a brief smile. “Surprising how little humans can be perseptive, isn’t it?”


	4. 4. Vampire - G1ish

Huddled in a corner, the mech whimpered softly, frame rattled with tremors. Prowl paid it no mind, his attention focused on the news reports he was perusing through. It was part of his daily ritual; one always had to pay close attention to the news in order to avoid… unpleasant situations.

His lips curled into a grimace before he leaned back in his seat, doorwings tucked close. Well, well, well.

For anyone else, the headline ‘Energon-drinker on the loose?!’ would have gathered a raised optic ridge, a scoff and a dismissive shake of the head as they pondered what the tabloids weren’t inventing those days.

For Prowl, though, the headline itself was a deep source of concern and contrariety, and the accompanying article did nothing to sooth him. Talks of mechs found dead in dumpsters, not a drop of energon left in their bodies. Others, found weak and barely alive, with no memories of what had happened to them. Nightclubbers reporting to hospitals in the morning with headache, general weakness, and their energy levels dropped by half. Authorities swearing they would investigate the matter -- though it was obvious they had only said so to get the journalist to stop pestering them with questions. Then again… Prowl couldn’t afford to get cocky, not at the moment. He was still too weak, his powers barely half what they had once been.

No, he couldn’t afford a direct confrontation should someone smart and with connections pick up the clues.

Frowning, he turned off the monitor and rose, stretching his doorwings wide. The back protrusions rose high, metal sheets membranes taunt over a crooked, almost bat-shaped frame. The design was old, almost unique, something that set him apart from most Praxians -- unless they were of his kins, of course. Normally, he cloaked them outside, wove spells and used holographic projectors to hide them from prying optics. But here, in the sanctity of his underground lair, there was no need to hide, nothing to fear.

Well… almost nothing, he mused as he glanced at the huddled mech with a little smirk, which uncovered an unusually long and sharp fang. The sight of it made the other mech wail in fright as he fought feebly against the heavy manacles Prowl had forced on him.

“You should save your strength and stop fighting,” the black and white, ancient mech stated as he came closer, one clawed digit coming to stroke his latest catch under the chin in a vaguely affectuous gesture. “We wouldn’t want you to get exhausted, would we?”

“Re… release me!” the whimpering mech managed to get out. “You… you monster!”

Prowl raised an optic ridge. “Monster? I seem to remember you were finding me quite to your taste last night, when you came to chat with me in the bar. Of course,” he added with a more pronounced smirk, “you were quite to my tastes as well. Still are, actually. Which remind me, I’m thirsty.” The other mech made a muffled sound of distress and terror as Prowl bend down to pick him up. His catch wasn’t much smaller than him, but Prowl was stronger than he appeared, and he had no problem carrying over the weakly struggling bundle of a mech toward the old battered sofa he had claimed for himself.

Bat-shaped doorwings twisted and curled like a cloak around Prowl and his prisoner, wrapping the captive in a half-protecting, half-restraining hold as Prowl settled comfortably. A clawed hand soothingly caressed the other mech’s back. “There, there,” he said in a light tone. “Nothing to fear; it won’t even hurt that badly if you don’t struggle.”

The captive mech started to cry, cleansing fluid dripping from his optics as he looked up into blue, turning-purple optics. “Please, please don’t kill me,” he begged.

“I don’t intend to, sweet little morsel. Actually, I was planning on dumping you on a clinic’s doorstep after I was finished with you.” The mech’s shoulders started to sag in relief. “However,” Prowl murmured, crushing any hope, “given the circumstances, I’m afraid I will have to keep you longer than planned. Do not worry, I will take very good care of you and your needs.” Frightened optics looked up at him, wide; the black and white mech almost snorted in amusement. Mortals; they all thought the worse when he said that, even when he was being purely platonic.

Well… perhaps he wasn’t quite platonic here. His current catch was cute, his own black and white paintjob a compliment to Prowl’s own;

“G-get off!”

“Oh, I think I will,” Prowl purred as he opened his mouth wide to let his fangs glimmer under the artificial light. His captive whimpered and cried out as the vampire dove and sunk them in his neck, right in a main energon line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three guesses who's Prowl's captive and the first two don't count ^^


	5. 5. Werewolf - RID

Sideswipe took a step back from the cage as it started. No matter how many times he had witnessed the process already, he couldn’t help the shudder of fear that went through him. Who could have blamed him, though? Everything about what was happening was sickening and highly distressing.

It started with the howl of pain as the light of the moon peered through the bars. Why the light of the full moon, none of them knew and frankly, Sideswipe didn’t care; he was too busy staring and covering his audio receptors as a head was thrown back while a longer, sharper howl resonated through the air.

Next came the horrible, horrible noise of metal breaking as various struts began to break and rearrange themselves. It was so similar and so dissimilar to a transformation in vehicular mode it made the red mech acutely aware of the gruesome aspect of the transformation.

Sharp-looking spikes started to erect out of forearms and legs, while additional appendages which had nothing to do on a normal mech’s body sprouted out at the audio receptors and at the small of the back. Digits left place to claws, hands and pedes reformed themselves into parodies of paws. A slit pupil appeared in blue optics which were slowly darkening into vivid purple.

Worse was the face, and the way it was suddenly stretching out as the howl picked up in animalistic intensity, becoming a muzzle. The jaws broke apart, letting bystanders see the two rows of drool-covered, shining fangs that would bit and break through armor, circuits and protoform as if it was an energon-candy.

Then the howl subsided, and the snarling and passing began.

Sideswipe’s shoulders sagged. There was little that was remotely Cybertronian -- proper Cybertronian anyway -- into the hunched form that was walking on all four and was watching hungrily, without any hint of recognition. Without the electrified bars between them, the creature that had been a friend the moment before would have already jumped to try and tear his throat cabling off with its fangs.

“I’m so sorry, Strongarm,” he whispered for the hundredth time, ever since the monthly transformations had started. Slagging Steeljaw, and slagging infectious virus he had been playing with when he had bitten the femme Cadet. “I’m so sorry…”


	6. 6. Pumpkin - TFA

“So, what do you think? Is it alright? What does it look like?”

Bumblebee and Sari traded a look, both evaluating each other before they turned back toward Bulkhead, who was shuffling nervously in place, waiting for their final judgement. Tilting her head to the side, eyes critical, Sari hummed.

It had been a while since she had been able to indulge in the whole Halloween spirit with her robot friends, and she was forced to admit finding disguise was far harder for robots than it was for humans -- and as a half-robot girl, she knew what she was talking about. But for once, both Bulkhead and Bumblebee were free for Halloween, so it called out for a celebration -- and teenage appearance or not, she was still legally twelve by now, so it wasn’t as if she was too old for tricks-or-treats, right?

Costumes, though, costumes were always a problem.

After her ‘upgrade’, pretty much all of her old Halloween costumes had been scrapped, alongside her Optimus’ disguise, and her Dad had strictly forbidden her to even think about trying out some of the ‘sexy witches’ outfits she had seen in a couple of stores. Given how livid he had been, she had decided to listen and had managed to figgle a homemade costume together -- a character from Ninja Gladiator.

Bumblebee, in a fit of genius, had managed to get his servos on old tarpaulins he had somewhat, awkwardly managed to sew together in something resembling a shirt. Not only that, but by means unknown, he had also found enough straw to put together a hat and stuck the rest in his makeshift shirt, thus turning himself into a cheeky looking scarecrow. Honestly, Sari wasn’t surprised he had managed to get himself something so fast and so easily; Bee was small enough to only need some material and creativity.

Bulkhead, though… Well, Bulkhead was big, and his options were limited. Sure, Sari had suggested he’d just get a tarpaulin to be a ghost, like on their first Halloween before the crazy Spider-lady crashed the party, but Bulkhead had said he had plans already.

And now, Sari couldn’t help but be impressed. Painted entirely orange, with a ‘hat’ made with what might have been a garbage can cover in the past, a few black lines to give the illusion of relief… No wonder it had taken her big pal so long to get ready!

Slowly, the little techno-organic broke into a smile as Bumblebee high-fived.

“Bulkhead, my friend, you look like the biggest, sweetest pumpkin I ever saw! And now, how about we go chase down those sweets?”


	7. 7. Haunted House - Prime

It started small; a door opening or closing without anyone being near, a glass falling to the ground for no reason, the lights flickering every night. His parents put it on faulty wiring his father had to fix when he’d have time, and the wind blowing stronger than usual, or even a stray cat entering and leaving -- it had happened before, after all, back when Raf was a little kid. He had even tried to adopt the stray, or so he had been told.

But whatever was happening now, it wasn’t natural, no matter the reassurances his parents and siblings uttered. Well… Pilar did share his worries, and she had been the first one to utter aloud the words ‘haunted house’. Now, Raf didn’t believe in ghosts; he was too smart and too pragmatic for it. But given he was friend with giant aliens robots, he could almost believe in unseen forces moving around his house.

Almost.

Because there might have been another explanation, one he had dreaded to find out was right.

He didn’t believe in ghosts, but he did believe in other planes of existence. He had been stuck in one with Miko and Jack, after all. And…

There was someone else stuck in it right now. Someone in the Shadowzone, who was trying to communicate with the outside and just get out.

He knew it was him. What had been suspicions were slowly turning into certitudes. Sure, Soundwave was bigger than his house, he couldn’t have physically fit in -- but he had tentacles, and those could slip everywhere, going through the kitchen’s window and knocking a glass on the floor on their way up to Raf’s bedroom, to try and fiddle with the computer. He shouldn’t have been able to do that -- the children hadn’t been able to touch anything from the real world -- but he did manage to anyway.

Raf swallowed as he stared at the screen flickering in the darkness.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I can’t let you out.”

The screen flickered harder, almost angrily. Raf turned his head away and buried his face in his pillow, trying to ignore the rattling of his cupboards’ doors, the pale light of his computer screen, and the fleeting sound of touches being hit on his keyboard by invisible hands -- or invisible tendrils extending from tentacles.

He almost wished Pilar had been right and that the house truly was haunted; it certainly would have been easier to deal with…


	8. 8. Zombie - Prime

It wasn’t his brother, Dreadwing told himself firmly, even as he tried to straighten himself and square his shoulders as the being who had once been Skyquake stumbled toward him, hands outstretched.

It wasn’t Skyquake. This rusty frame, kept animated not by a Spark but by dark energon coursing through its line, held nothing of the once proud and honorable warrior his twin had been.

His brother was dead, and the thing who was trying to grab him was an abomination in the optics of Primus. There was no link between them, no shared Spark, no feelings and EM fields reaching out for each other. There was only the void left by Skyquake’s untimely death. The empty, dead, living frame was a monster.

And monsters had to be eliminated.

Dreadwing aimed his blaster, and slowly started to press the trigger…


	9. 9. Eyeball - IDW

The whistling made him want to cry. Strapped down to an old medical berth with too many belts to count them, he couldn’t move, not even his head -- straps held his helm and chin firmly in place, and only his optics managed to dart right and left. And he almost wished they didn’t, because what was around here was like a horror museum!

Optics. Optics everywhere.

In jars on the shelves, on display on bland face masks like the ones used to present make-up and polishes in stores, intact or broken, reds, blues, yellows, purples. Hanging from the ceilings from loose pieces of strings -- which, upon closer inspection, were actual optical cables normally relying the optic sensors to the CPU.

He couldn’t help it; he whimpered, optics filling with cleansing fluid.

And sadly, it brought attention back to him.

“Oh, no, no, no.” A pincher clicked near his face. “We mustn’t let those beautiful optics of yours get wet. It will only complicate the surgery! I wouldn’t want to accidentally damage them while I’ll do the incisions -- or even worse, the extraction.” Above him, a faceless mask lighted only by a large, single optic -- if one could call that an optic -- shone brightly. “I wonder if your optics will look good on me. I bet they will! Such a pretty color they have, and such a nice form!”

The strapped mech only cried harder. Primus, let someone save him from this… this butcher before he stole his optics away!


	10. 10. Alien - TFA

It was small, as small as one of the Minicons patrolling and guarding Trypticon prison. No, it was even smaller! He could have stepped on one without even noticing -- though he would certainly have noticed the squishy noise after he did.

Well, he may not have been able to hear the struts breaking and being crushed -- assuming of course this… thing had struts -- but the protoform-like mass being squashed down? Hardly unnoticeable. Especially if his sensors and scanners were right and the lifeform before him contained that much liquid.

He stared again and furtively checked none of those things had pooled around his pedes. The last thing he wanted was to dirty his plating, and hopping around in panic lacked dignity. Plus, he didn’t even have what he needed to wipe away the contamination!

Primus, it was ugly! And it. wouldn’t. leave. him. freaking. alone!

“Get away you pest!” he howled, taking a step back as the Bumbler on Optimus’ team and his pet organic -- another alien lifeform he could have lived without knowing about -- snickered. He glared at them, prompting the yellow Minibot to cough.

“Sorry, Sentinel Prime… Sir,” he added after a bit of silence and a pointed glare from Sentinel. “It’s just… it’s a cat. Cats don’t listen to humans to begin with, so obeying us! Right, Sari?”

The human nodded, blind to Sentinel’s look of disdain. She was grinning. “Totally right; cats do what they want and like whenever they want. Good luck making this one go away if it doesn’t!”

The Prime tried not to groan before glaring at the purring thing turning and sniffing around his foot. He hated aliens!


	11. 11. Raven - G1

‘If the Central Spire of Vos’ Rubidium-Ravens are lost or fly away, the Crown will fall and Vos with it.’

Every Seeker knew the tale. It was as old as Vos itself, a myth shrouded in the midst of time and history. A superstition, a legend born from a story living audios had forgotten, but which had traversed eons, from one generation to another. A warning most people paid no heed to anymore, dismissing it as pure folklore, best forgotten in this era of modernity.

The Rubidium-Ravens nesting in the nooks and crannies of the Central Spire were just an attraction among many others, tourists coming to gawk at the wild flights as they glided in the sky or perched themselves anywhere they could to peck at their wings.

Seekerlings would try to pursue them when they learned to glide and fly, to catch one to try and domesticate it, before an exasperated Creator forced them to free the hapless animal and scold them.

Scientists would occasionally come over to study them, noting their very unusual design, making them unique among their species, and the gleam of red over their plating, which might have come from their alimentation.

Not that most Vosians cared.

The Rubidium-Ravens were there, they existed, and that was it.

Until… they weren’t there anymore.

It might had happened gradually, it might had happened overnight, but one day, Vos came online to find the nests empty, except for broken eggs and stray metal or crystal feathers. There was no caws anymore, just the silence as winds blowed through unoccupied nooks and crannies.

Vosians gathered. Some shrugged the matter off and headed back home or back to work. Others stared and gathered in groups to discuss the matter, wondering what had happened exactly. And a few sensitive individuals, Elders believing in the old tales, superstitious youngsters, or animal behaviorists believing that Rubidium-Ravens knew when to fly a danger, immediately started to pack their things and fly away as fast as they could.

But as fast as they went, they all heard Vos Fall.


	12. 12. Moon - G1

Honestly, he had only agreed to come because they both had a free shift at the same time, which had gotten quite rare after their awakening on Earth after those thousands of vorns -- part of the extended crew had been killed on impact, other had been sent into such deep medical stasis it would take Ratchet’s orns to reboot them, especially with the rudimentary means they had at their disposition, and those of them who were in full health often ended up fighting the Decepticons.

A free shift with close friends was a rarity, and so when his old friend had suggested they head out, well, Mirage hadn’t seen fit to refuse. Even if Hound just wanted to find a quiet place to watch the humans’ moon. Such a strange idea; back on Cybertron, nobody in his right mind would have wasted time watching the Moonbases.

He had to admit, however, that this planet Moon’s had a strange beauty to itself, especially when it was full, like it was tonight. Mirage was no artist, but as a noble, he had been trained to have an optic for art. And the sight of this white globe, in a cloudless, stars-filled sky, shining bright above a forest of dark trees… It was simply breathtaking, and he could understand why the humans thought of their moon as ‘romantic’.

And still, the eerie light over what was basically dying organisms -- the trees were losing their leaves, something that happened every cold season on Earth -- could easily make the peaceful scene almost creepy.

But that was fine by him.

“Didn’t I told you you would enjoy it?” Hound’s voice murmured at his audio receptor.

Mirage smiled and leaned more closely against the jeep, ostensibly to share the warmth of their frame against the cold of the late October night, and privately because he enjoyed the contact. “Indeed. Thank you for taking me out.”

“Anytime, my friend. Anytime.”


	13. 13. Frankenstein - Prime

Drive-ins theaters were much nicer, Knock Out thought vaguely as he laid down sprawled over his berth, chin in his palm as he sipped at his fourth cube of high grade from the evening. His systems were buzzing with the excess energy and his processor felt fuzzy and unclear, but it wasn’t a bad state to be. It was at least stopping him from thinking too much about...

A hand grabbed for the remote and he quickly started to increase the volume, chuckling stupidly as humans characters on the screen ended up devoured by undead monsters. Silly humans -- though their entertainment was nice, he supposed. Not as much as their cars, but nice -- if one turned down part of their processor to avoid thinking about bad acting, bad ‘special effects’ and plot holes.

“The head,” he mumbled. “Must always go for the head.” The screen faded to black to let the end credits roll. The medic snorted and dropped the now empty cube to the floor next to the berth, before grabbing a fifth -- he had made reserves. Tonight was a good night to get completely wasted and watch so-called horror movies about impossible, imaginary creatures. He wanted to avoid thinking, and cheap entertainment and heavy drinking were doing juuuuust the trick.

He was halfway through the sixth cube of the evening when his processor miraculously managed to clear enough to focus. Or perhaps his optics had been attracted despite themselves by the strangely grey colors of the new movie. Unless it was the noises, and the way some dialogues just seemed to ring something deep in his cloudy processor. Whatever it was, when his optics fell on the screen, what he saw caused him to spit take.

He cared little for the fuel dripping down his chin and chest, his head shaking slowly as he tried to follow the action and the plot. He didn’t get much, but what he understood was sufficient to overcome his CPU with rage. Knock Out hurled the empty cube at the screen, a brief flash of satisfaction flaring through him as it shattered and shattered the screen in turn before it was swallowed by misery, horror and anger.

Humans. Such disgusting creatures! Humans, and monsters, and creating things that weren’t meant to be created with dead bodies that should have stayed dead!

His hands shook as he rose slowly out of his berth, his pedes automatically guiding him toward the medbay. He crossed Vehicons on the way, who watched him pass by while exchanging concerned looks. None of them tried to stop him, though; in his state, they knew the Doctor was more likely to saw they head off than at any other time.

“Hello, Monster,” Knock Out slurred as he entered the bay and let the door close behind him. He made his stumbling way toward the prone form strapped down to a slab in the back, optics shining brightly. “Frankenstein is here to operate.” He paused. “Unless you’re Frankenstein? Meh. Don’t care. Time to operate anyway,” he finally slurred, face breaking in an ugly smirk.

Breakdown’s face and the parasite hidden under its chest could only look up at him in horror as the rotary saw started up...


	14. 14. Bat - G1

“This sucks,” Rumble pouted as he sat cross-legged on the floor by Soundwave’s right leg. The telepath didn’t bother glancing at him or pushing him away, optics focused on the frame he was patiently assembling pieces by pieces.

“Yeah, it totally sucks,” Frenzy agreed, sitting opposite to his brother, leaning back on his extended arms. “Don’t get us wrong, Bossbot, we’re kinda glad your Spark split again and that we’re going to have another itsy-bitsy rugrat running around. But really, a flier?”

“I mean, if you really needed to buy another Cassette-sized body, you could have make it an handsome mech like us,” Rumble pipped in.

“Or another felinoid like Ravage. We could have have fun teasing the new kitty,” Frenzy continued in stride, rolling to the side to avoid Ravage’s claws as their sibling growled at them both.

“Ravage: desist,” Soundwave said plainly as he grabbed a smaller screwdriver. “Fliers: give a strategic advantage over the Autobots. New Cassette: will prove invaluable.”

“Yeah, when it can leave the nest,” Frenzy snorted. He rose to his feet and made a show of getting on the tip of his pedes in order to see over the table and check the assembly process. “Seriously, we’re glad about the incoming newcomer, even if it’s another birdy…” He tilted his head to the side. “Okay, it doesn’t look like any Cybertronian bird I know. Hey, bro, check it out! What is it, Boss?”

“Wow, I totally dig the wings!” Rumble let out as he got a look as well. “What is it, boss?”

“Species of inspiration: Earth lifeform known as bat,” Soundwave said dryly, optic band flashing with amusement as he inserted a new joint.

“Look cool. A bit weird, but cool. But why a bat?”

“Answer: humans afraid of bats.” Soundwave’s voice was a flat as ever, but the Cassettes heard the hidden amusement all the same and they snickered in turn.

“Oooh, good one, Bossbot. And how is our future terror going to get called?”

Now Soundwave was definitely amused. “Designation: Ratbat.”


	15. 15. Amulet - TFA

Nobody alives on Cybertron today knew exactly where and how it had started, how the amulets came to be. All they knew was that they existed, and that they were supposed to bring you good luck, strength, courage, determination. It kept diseases away, protected your dreams when you were deep in recharge, a silent, ghostly guardian of black and gold watching over you as you slept.

The rumor had it the amulets could even bring back the deads, but of course it was untrue. Nothing could bring back the dead.

Except, not quite, because the real amulet, the First One, had indeed created a miracle by bringing a Chosen of Primus back to life. Everyone had heard the tale, and occasionally, the relic still performed miracles.

Thus why wearing its copies had become so popular among Cybertronian.

Aliens species who visited the planet sometimes paused and privately wondered why a simple key had become such a sacred item. But then they shrugged, shook their head, and decided it was none of their business.


	16. 16. Grave - G1

He watched the scene below dispassionately. Not even his doorwings twitched as he simply but sternly directed the rescue teams toward the most likely areas to hold rescapees. He was almost painfully aware of the glances thrown his ways, by the soldiers as well as the medics. The former were in disbelief as how cold and unaffected he looked, while the medics obviously expected him to keel over soon under grief and pain.

He wasn’t going to give them the pleasure, though. Not as long as the ruins hadn’t been thoroughly searched, each sector of the destroyed town screened for fleeting but still there life signs, and whatever survivors brought back to the base camp and the makeshift clinic to be treated by the best medics they had.

He had turned off most of his emotional subroutines to make sure he wouldn’t flinch away from his duties, and though he knew Ratchet was probably going to have fits when he learned about it, he had also let his battle computer work at the highest setting. His energon reserves were slowly dropping, but he paid them no mind.

In the distance, the sounds of crumpling metal and glass hitting the ground resonated, making a new team pause and exchanged uneasy glances.

Doorwings finally twitched as new feedback from cameras and scanners came to him through the equipment bore by the mechs already sweeping through the dead city. “Rescue team 37, do stay clear from sector 4-A until the construction team did a first assessment of the ruins’ stability. Rescue team 36, do not progress further north; the Crystal Plaza is compromised. Turn left and go through Paracelsus Street -- you may be able to reach the university through it.”

He sounded cold, dispassionate, but at least nobody contested his decisions. Yet. He was a native of this city, even if he had been working in Iacon for thousands of vorns by now. He was also a former Enforcer. He knew each road, each street, each back alley. He knew the locations of almost all emergency shelters in which the ruling authorities had stocked fuel, medicaments, tools, weapons and installed accommodations for mechs in case of natural disasters.

Those were the most likely places to find survivors -- or at least get much needed supplies if anything else.

The most pessimists among them were mumbling under their breath that not even a crafty Cybercat would have survived the destruction, but they still went in anyway, accepting orders easily.

Prowl just watched them go down below, walking toward the ruins of Praxus and its skeletal, half-broken spires and towers, outstretched toward the sky like to many begging arms reaching out from the grave.

For Praxus was now a mass grave, and deep inside his Spark, Prowl howled in pain.


	17. 17. Demon - Prime

Orion didn’t know what he had accepted the invitation, really. Perhaps it was ill-placed curiosity, or perhaps it was just because he wanted to be polite with a dear friend who could have become more, if his Spark and processor ever agreed about it.

But here he was, a prim and proper data archivist, assisting to a gladiatorial match in Kaon as he feebly cheered for the fighter, and one in particular.

An axe described a large circle and a mech fell to the ground with a startled cry, chest adorned with a new horizontal cut that sparkled, the systems underneath damaged by the blade and the impact. The downed gladiator gasped as an heavy foot rested over him and forced him further into the ground, as his adversary roared in victory, soon followed by the rest of the crowd.

Except Orion. The red and blue mech could only stare as he felt Megatronus’s optics search for his before they found them. The archivist forced himself to smile as the grey gladiator’s face broke into a sincere smile and his chest puffed with pride. It was obvious he was offering his victory to his guest, but Orion felt sick.

What he was seeing here...

Clad in the spilt energon of his adversaries, a savage smile on his lips, Megatronus looked like a demon straight out of the ancient frescos of Primus’ Temple, an incarnation of death and destruction. A demon with a charming smile and a silver tongue and who was watching Orion Pax with such intensity it was almost scary.

So the archivist sat still and clapped to salute the victory, showing his support and fooling the beast. But in his Spark, something faltered with uneasiness and fear...


	18. 18. Mask - G1

He hates them. Deep down, he hates them. Not individually, of course -- one by one, he finds most of them agreeable, and some of them are very hard to dislike. Take the youngest Praxian and his motormouth -- he could be annoying, but he was mostly innocent. Same thing for the Junior Medic who trails behind the CMO -- he was inoffensive and so, so naive. A few other mechs he could say he personally liked, but the rest…

If they died in battle, he wouldn’t have shed a single tear of true sorrow.

He can’t help it; all together, as a faction… his Spark burns with hatred for them and their deeds. It surges with disgust as they smile at him, cheer with him, try to goad him into joining them for a movie or a game or whatever. He just wants to shoot at them ‘no’ and go run to his quarters, slam the door and forget he has been asked. Forget them even exist.

But despite his hatred and his desperate wishes, his head nods agreeably, his body follows them around, his voice distributes kind words and encouragements. He physically looks pleased to hang around the crew, while his Spark despairs in silence.

Something hot surges in his chest and forces him to calm down before he inconveniently overheat his systems, and it’s almost agony as his Spark is once again tamed, calmed down, forced to drown in misery rather than righteous rage at the mechs around him… and the artefact stuck in his chest.

The Matrix changed him so much, physically and mentally. It made him a stranger in his own body -- not, not just a stranger, a ghost living a borrowed life as his body moves around under the orders of an alien presence.

He wishes he could discard the mask and be his true self -- leave behind those mechs who make his life a living Pit solar cycle after solar cycle in their ignorance and who expect him to lead them to victory, against someone he doesn’t wish to fight in the first place!

Not that he plan to join him either, not after all that time and the depth of depravity the other faction showed itself able to.

“Humans make fun movies, don’t they, Prime?” someone quirks next to him, and his masked head nods. His voice is pleasant and steady as he answers. Deep inside, he’s screaming.

“Indeed, they do, my friend.”


	19. 19. Creature from the Black Lagoon - TFA

“It’s even uglier from close up,” Sari commented as she leaned a little over the railway, only to be deftly caught by the collar of her dress and forced back by Captain Fanzone, who was frowning.

“What did I told you already about getting too close, kid?” he grumbled. “Those things are anything but safe, and you have no business nearby!”

“Hey, relax, Captain, I got my own bodyguards with me!” Sari gestured to the pair of Autobots who were also watching the creature in the aquarium at a short distance from them. Mouth agape, Bumblebee could only shake his head in disbelief.

“Primus on a pogo stick, I didn’t know Meltdown made them that big!”

“Indeed,” Prowl murmured with a raised optic ridge. “I do not believe this shark-like creature was that big when we first encountered it.”

“What did he do? Feed him growth hormones?”

“Or most likely, tweaked their DNA further,” the Cyber-ninja commented as Sari and the Captain joined them. “I trust you will be able to contain this… creature without further help from our part?”

“Sure, sure, no biggie,” the Captain waved asides, though he was clearly sarcastic. “You know, the guys at the department were feeling humorous. Did you know they decided to give it a name?”

“Indeed, Captain?” Prowl asked. “And what should that be?”

For all answer, the human gestured at one side of the aquarium, where someone had painted in bright red letters the words ‘Black’s Lagoon Creature: beware!’. Sari couldn’t help it; she guffawed.

“I think I love your men, captain!”


	20. 20. Skull - IDW

If the Institute itself was a shadowy rumor that floated among the population, its existence dismissed by the sceptical, then this very room was a legend, even among the people working at said Institute.

Nobody could even try to access it without a maximal security clearance, granted by the Senate to a small, very small number of individuals.

On the outside, the door was like any other -- no guard, no special lock, no cameras turned on and sweeping the corridor for intruders. Just a banal, mute grey door that could have been mistaken for a cupboard or a furniture room.

What was behind, though, would have given nightmares to the unprepared Spark.

It wasn’t a very big room, at least in width; wo mechs could barely stand in next to each other without hitting the shelves. But what it lacked in width, it certainly made it up in length. Rows upon rows of shelves spread out alongside the wall, from the floor to the ceilings.

And on those shelves…

On those shelves were sick trophies, kept by the higher ups. Trophies that were remains of mechs -- and more exactly, remains of faces. Facemasks had been put on display, kept steady by helms. Blank, dead optics were staring straight ahead over grimaces of horror. More than one mouth was open on a silent scream -- the last expression on many ‘patients’ of the Institute when the Empurata process started.

Handsome-looking facemask from elite were mingling with the duller ones of lower classes mechs. Red, blue or yellow glass tinted flatly under artificial light. The helms and faces’ colors were dull, no energon flowing through them anymore. In some cases, they had completely turned grey.

They were a sight of horror, and a sight of pride for the responsibles as they walked the rows and stopped to smirk at one head, as they remember how that particular face, that particular skull, came to be part of their collection. Sometimes they chatted amiably with the skulls, before saluting and leaving, locking the door behind them again.

Until their next visit to the trophies room, cheerful, while all across Cybertron, hundreds, thousands of mechs whimpered in agony at the lack of their faces, and the lack of their hands.


	21. 21. 8-bit Zombie - Prime

“You know, this is very humiliating -- for you, I mean,” Knock Out mentioned casually as he stretched his arms high above his head and puffed his chest, an amused smirk on his lips. Bulkhead glared at him with all his might, clearly displeased.

“It’s not funny!”

“I don’t normally agree with him, but you got to admit he has a point,” Miko piped in from her seat as she put her controller down. The game she had been playing was on pause, the large screen she had connected her console to frozen on the grisly, grimacing, decaying face of a zombie about to bite her character. “Seriously, Bulk, I thought there were only Scraplets to cause you to scream like a girl!”

“Oooh, here’s an info I didn’t know about!” Knock Out said wickedly as he rubbed his hands together.

“I dare you to say Scraplets don’t scare you!” the Wrecker grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

“Oh, I didn’t say that. I’m just saying they never made me, ah, ‘scream like a girl’, as our resident human said.” He looked at the frozen display, eyeing the zombie on the screen with a raised optic ridge. “And seriously, what do you find so scary about that game? I mean, the undead monsters in the latest ‘Living Deads arise’ were scarier-looking.”

Miko perked up. “You’re an horror movie fan, docbot?”

“I wouldn’t exactly say that. Let’s just say I spent a lot of time at various drives-ins, and they just happened to show horror movies. Not that whatever I learned from them proved useful when energon-sucking Terrorcons started to invade the ship,” he mumbled unhappily, suppressing a shudder.

Bulkhead blinked. “Energon-sucking Terrorcons?”

A fleeting smile played on the red mech’s lips. “Oh, an old, odd story I’d be more than willing to share… if I didn’t already know video games zombies are enough to spook you out of your protoform.”

Bulkhead squeaked in indignation while Miko chuckled. She wasn’t Knock Out’s biggest fan, and she totally wouldn’t minded punching him out-cold again, but every once in awhile, she had to admit he could be funny.


	22. 22. Candy - Prime

“Humans are such strange creatures,” Ratchet muttered as he watched the children from the corner of his optics. All three were huddled together on the floor around a pile of collected goodies they had apparently gathered during the early evening, before Nurse Darby drove them to the base for a ritual they had learned was called ‘movie night.

“I mean,” the medic continued as Bumblebee leaned over the small group and beeped, engaging in a conversation with Rafael, “what is the point of this ‘celebration’? Dressing up as some kind of imaginary characters and going over total strangers houses to threaten them to ruin their lawns or houses unless they’re given massive amount of sugar?” He shook his head in disbelief. “Do they realize the whole process reek suspiciously of racket?”

“I know, old friend, I know,” Optimus muttered back as he too watched the processing. “But the children seem happy, and Agent Fowler and Nurse Darby certified it wasn’t illegal, so I trust nothing bad will come from it. Although Nurse Darby did mention to watch for the sugar intake of the children and not let them go over a certain dose; apparently, it can be detrimental to their prolonged health if it does.”

He immediately heard Ratchet’s medical scanners humming to life and put a hand on the medic’s forearm. “Peace, Ratchet. Arcee and Bulkhead are already chaperoning them.” The lithe femme and the Wrecker were indeed sitting by the platform, Arcee tweaking with the video equipment while Bulkhead was chatting with a particularly bouncy Miko, optics a little wide.

“Why do I get the feeling Bulkhead wasn’t a very good chaperone?” the medic mumbled, scanners still active.

“Let it go, old friend,” Optimus smiled softly. “For tonight, let the children enjoy the fun and the ‘candies’. Any scowling and lecture might wait until tomorrow. At least, according to Nurse Darby’s guideline. She also mentioned something about the children watching their dental plates before going to bed for safety,” he added after a bit of silence.

The medic’s optics shone and a grim look appeared on his face. He was a mech on a mission, now. “Oh, trust me, Prime; they will.”


	23. 23. Gore - TFA

He had seen ugly things before, especially since the beginning of this Primus-forsaken war, but this… This was too much. Ratchet fought valiantly to try and keep his tank steady, but after a short and intense battle, he finally lost and fell to his knees, violently purging.

He glanced again at the scene of desolation, and purged some more. And he dared anyone to tease him or blame it about it!

Greyed corpses in pieces everywhere, stained with the vibrant colors of spilled energon and other fluids -- coolants, lubricants, oils,... A hand was outstretched toward him, as if begging to be caught and dragged to safety… but the rest of the body wasn’t here.

A head without optics was resting atop a pile of debris, a pair of pedes, a weapon, a broken scope recognizable among them. A shattered leg, which must have been cut at the knee or rather, torn off by an explosion. A few mostly intact chests and torsos, the empty, broken Spark-chambers seen through the large cracks and gaps.

And in the air, the heavy smell of melted metal, the scent of burnt oil, spilled energon, purged tanks -- Ratchet hadn’t been the only one to be sick, and he certainly wasn’t the last -- was mixed with a persistent rust odor, which might have been a consequence of Cosmic Rust spread over the battlefield.

“Alright,” he finally croaked to the other medical and rescue personnel behind him, getting back on shaky legs. “We can do it, team. I want everyone to have Cosmic Rust antidote in handy, I don’t trust the looks on some of those corpses.” His voice was getting steadier as he spoke. “Those of you who didn’t get their preventive shot already, stay back and wait until we tell you you’re in the clear. Don’t touch anyone who has even the slightest trace of rust or discoloration on them! Start setting the medical camp. The rest of you, with me.”

He had to give them that; they looked uneasy, sick, desperate, horrified, but they obeyed. And so, one by one, the newly minted medics followed Ratchet through the gore to try and save lives.

Assuming there was still any live to be saved here.


	24. 24. Skeleton - Prime

She can’t speak of what she saw inside Airachnid’s ship.

Her ‘collection’, her ‘trophies’. She knows she should, in order to clear her processor, in order to stop having nightmares when she power down her optics to recharge. Ratchet is no psychiatrist, but he’s a medic, and he would listen and perhaps even prescribe her something to help her sink into a peaceful recharge.

But Arcee can’t.

Because the gory display inside the ship has to be kept in a corner of her CPU. She needs to remember those skeletons, those heads in a jar, some with their spines will attached to a rotting or already reduced to bare-bone heads. She needs to remember what they looked like, what Airachnid did to them.

What she almost did to Jack. What she would DO to Jack, should she be given the chance.

The thought alone makes her want to purge, but she doesn’t. Instead, she steels herself, hang around her human ‘partner’, continue to smile or snap or kick Decepticons’ afts. She acts like herself and doesn’t let out her fear or her rage.

And she watches Jack hugs his mother or discuss with Miko or play videogames with Raf, she tries not to imagine her friend’s own skeleton displayed in a case in that sadist’s ship.


	25. 25. Mummy - G1

The silence had been stretching for too long. Prowl’s doorwings twitched as he stared flatly at the two mechs standing at attention on the other side of his desk. They had excellent poker faces, he had to give them that.

“Well?” he questioned, intertwining his fingers as he rested his elbows on the desk.

“Well what? Sir,” Sunstreaker grunted, looking away.

“What do you have to say for your defense?”

“Our defense? I don’t see what you mean, Sir.”

The SIC fought down a look of annoyance as Sunstreaker stayed perfectly calm and collected. Sideswipe, for his part, was starting to grin and to look more and more amused. As if Prowl had needed further proof they were involved!

“I think you see perfectly well what I’m hinting at. Mirage.”

“Is something the matter with him, Sir?” The question would have sounded naive, but there was too much hidden glee here to belong to an innocent.

“It seems,” Prowl said flatly, slowly, “that he found himself waking up this morning to find himself wrapped in layers upon layers of human bandages, to the point he was almost unable to walk and had to stumble to the Medbay with his arms outstretched before him in order to get help from Ratchet and cut himself loose. Then Mirage did discover someone had pinned a message behind his back, proclaiming in bold human characters: ‘THE MUMMY LIVES!’ This is not funny by any stretch of the imagination!” he snapped sharply as Sideswipe snickered and Sunstreaker’s flashed a quick, blink-and-you-will-miss-it smile.

“If you say so, Sir. Will that be all, Sir?”

Doorwings twitched. He knew it was them, but he couldn’t prove it. Nothing could specifically link them to Mirage’s ‘mummification’. Everybody had watched those stupid Earth movies during the last scheduled movie night, the usual troublemakers with them. And Mirage hadn’t made friends from a good share of the crew, Cliffjumper chief among them. Now, if he could somewhat find out where they had gotten the bandages, then he could have pinned the blame on them properly, but so far, his tentatives had been fruitless.

“... It will be all,” he groused unhappily as the Twins saluted and left.

He wondered if he should have warned them that Mirage, helped by Jazz and possibly Bumblebee, for Ops mechs were a knit-close unit, were planning revenge if the culprits weren’t legitimately punished. Hmm.

No.

Whatever happened to them in retaliation, then they had brought it on themselves.


	26. 26. Rat - G1

He could hear them screech in the dark and he unconsciously curled further on himself, shivering in fright. The high pitched noise was almost omnipresent, barely broken by the slow drips of broken pipes overhead and the rhythmic ‘thump, thump, thump’ of mechs digging in the rubbles accumulated over his head.

He had been lucky not to perish squashed in between blocks of broken concrete, shattered glass panels and split, twisted steel walls. Others around him… hadn’t been so lucky. It was good he had powered down his optics to their minimum setting -- that way, he couldn’t see the outstretched, grey, dead arm emerging from part of the rubble barely half a meter away from him.

And he couldn’t see the rats nibbling and biting at the fingers, trying to devour the corpse’s most fragile parts. But it was just as well they were ‘feasting’ on the arm, because if they hadn’t, then they would have tried to eat HIM!!!

He whimpered in distress, damaged doorwings fluttering nervously, accidentally hitting a broken pipe behind him.

The rhythmic ‘thumps’ overhead stopped, the rats’ screeching suddenly louder. Damaged comm lines cracked.

“...id?... still with us?”

The trapped Youngling whimpered. “Y… yes,” he send, hoping the comm line was going to hold. He was in a bad state already, and the quantity of rubble over him didn’t help the transmission pass. He hoped his would-be rescuers would be quick now. That he wouldn’t be alone for much longer with the deads… and the rats.

“... ang on, Blue…” someone repeated several times on the crackling lines before the thumping resumed, and some debris shifted, falling on the ground with little trays of dirt following.

Blue shuttered his optics completely. _Please_ , he repeated to himself several times, desperate, _please let me out of here..._


	27. 27. Witch - G1

Special Ops mechs undergo rituals before they leave for missions, always. Not that the rest of the ranks know -- and if they knew what those rituals consisted of, they would have stared in disbelief or laughed themselves silly before talking about old superstitions and the craziness of mechs who believed in them.

Nobody said SpecOps were sane anyway.

And so Mirage stood stoically in a circle drawn with chalk as Bumblebee droned a protective spell while Jazz burned incense and herbs and made him inhale the fumes, to ward off evil spirits. The grin on the TIC of the Autobot was a mix of glee and reverence as he practiced the ‘witchcraft’ he had been taught at his Creators’ knees, and wove the intricate protection spells he had later learned from his predecessor.

SpeOps had always dabbled in ‘supernatural’ means, though it was a well-kept secret from the outside, and something they never commented about, even in private.

Nobody batted an optic when their Commander handed them homemade lucky shards they hung or tied across their Spark chambers. They nodded along as he threw an invisibility spell to reinforce Mirage’s generator and prolongate its effects. Bumblebee drank all ‘potions’ he was given without complaint, for they would boost his systems and allow him protection against the harmful chemicals Decepticons sometimes pumped through the vents he crawled through.

As a rule, they never complained. Still…

“Jazz, seriously, drop the hat,” Mirage finally let out one evening on Earth as he was undergoing yet another purification ritual after coming back from his latest mission. Under the oversized replica of a pointed hat humans usually wore when practicing their own witchcraft -- or so popular culture pretended -- the SpeOps commander blinked.

“Why? You don’t like it?” he pouted.

“It’s ridiculous,” the noble said flatly. “Drop it off. Now.”

But of course, he wasn’t listened to...


	28. 28. Black Cat - TFA

They didn’t notice it at first; the black of the terran creature’s body was almost invisible against Prowl’s plating. Its organic optics were almost the same gold as Prowl’s highlines as well, thus why everybody was caught by surprise when they heard the mewling. Well, everybody but Prowl, who stoically stood still as everybody turned toward him. Optimus almost gave himself a whiplash as he double checked where the source of the unexpected noise was.

“Prowl,” the Prime finally said as his optics focused on the small creature riding over the Cyber-ninja’s arm, “what is that?”

“A felis catus, apparently,” Prowl answered matter-of-factly, “more commonly called a cat by humans. I found him alone behind the area where humans drop their waste products.”

“And you just decided to bring him home, like that?” Ratchet groused as he came closer to take a look at the ‘felis catus’. The small black, furry creature purred and let itself slide from Prowl’s shoulder and over his arm, slowly making it’s way toward the Cyber-Ninja’s cupped hand, where it came to rest and curl happily. “Didn’t we have a conversation about bringing home organics before?”

Prowl stiffened. “Cats are harmless; I did check it out with Sari.”

“Sure, because Sari is a reference when it comes to ‘safe’,” the medic snorted. “You should put it back where you found it.”

“Not now,” the Cyber-Ninja refused, fingers curling protectively above the curled black cat, as if to protect him from the medic. “It’s freezing outside, and Sari informed me that cold isn’t good for organics.”

“We can’t keep it, Prowl,” Optimus tried as well, before faltering at the look Prowl threw his way. “... though I suppose it can stay for tonight… or until the weather is less harmful to organics.”

“Thank you, Prime,” the black and gold mech nodded. “Now if you will, Sari should join us shortly. She’s bringing essential furnitures that cats need in order to ‘feel at home’ and be properly taken care off.”

Ratchet and Optimus watched him stride away before looking at each other. “We got owned, didn’t we?”

“I think so… but I’d like to see you try to say him ‘no’ when he’s in that mood.”


	29. 29. Scarecrow - G1

“Bluestreak, we need to get back home! Logos, tell him to get back here immediately!” The grey femme’s doorwings canted high as she frowned, her errant son giggling and ignoring her as he continued to work on his latest project with a few fellow Younglings.

“Aw, let him play, Rhea. We have plenty of time to get back home,” her mate, a red, blue-streaked mech chuckled as he watched their son happily hand metallic straw to a taller Youngling, who stuffed it inside the hollow, distorted shell they had built from scraps and damaged old parts a sympathetic medic had handed to them.

Gently, he tugged at his mate’s shoulder and brought her close to him, hugging her until her doorwings sagged and she relaxed. “A good gesture, sweetspark. Come on,” he cajoled. “It’s Morticus Solstice. Sparklings and Younglings prowl the streets asking for energon goodies and credits from passerbies, we’ll have a gigantic bonfire in the middle of the Crystal Gardens, and adults and bitlets alike participate in Scarefliers’ competition. Don’t you remember being his age and partaking in this honored tradition?”

The femme pouted. “Oh, I remember alright, and I keep telling you, this ‘honored tradition’ is stupid and pointless. I mean, it’s not like if Scarefliers truly scare fliers; Seekers regularly pass above Praxus and in the adjoining fields, so what is the point of construction dummies to scare them away from landing? The ones I met at the custom offices the other day weren’t impressed with the ones they saw, especially one red and white Seeker with a dark face. He was so… Oooh!” she threw her hands up in defeat.

Logos tutted and massaged her shoulders tenderly. “Not all Seekers are like that. Some actually find our little tradition amusing. It’s too bad you missed the one Bluestreak and I met earlier today -- a childish fellow, purple and black. He pretended to be scared from the Scarefliers for the Sparklings who build them, backing away and making frightened faces before begging for protection from the adults and older Younglings. It was a very merry moment.”

Rhea sighed. “I don’t doubt it, and I’m glad Bluestreak is enjoying himself. But we still need to get back home. Festival or not, the weather forecast announced acidic rains for tonight, and I need to get my crystals back inside before they’re damaged.”

“Can’t we wait a couple more kliks?” Logos cooed. “Look, they’re almost over!”

The grey femme looked up at her giggling son, then at her smiling, almost begging mate. “Oh, I don’t know who is the more childish, you or Blue. Very well, we can stay a few kliks more -- but just a fews,” she warned.

Logos just grinned.


	30. 30. Spider - Prime

In retrospective, watching documentaries with Raf had been a bad idea -- not that Jack didn’t like watching documentaries, and between the rediffusion of a loud, almost deafening heavy metal concert Miko had wanted to see and Raf’s meek demand to see the latest of a series he was following, Jack had thrown the decisive vote toward their littlest member.

Had he known what the subject would be, perhaps he would have taken the heavy metal concert.

He tried not to fidget or worse, thrown up as the voice-over droned about various species of spiders and their ways of hunting… and feeding. Now, a couple of months ago, Jack would have proudly stated spiders didn’t scare him.

That was before he had met Airachnid, though. Nothing could make you fear and loath spider like a giant robot from outer space shaped like a spider and trying to kill and dismember you… and your mother. Despite himself, he couldn’t help but glance behind him.

If the three kids were installed in the couch, Raf scribbling on a notebook as he watched nature in action, Miko with her chin in her hand and a look of deep annoyance on her face and Jack fidgeting nervously, June Darby was entranced in a discussion with Optimus Prime. Like any reasonable mother, she was learning exactly what her son had been up to behind her back, and he hoped nothing bad would come out of it. But even if it did, Jack wouldn’t have cared, because she was here. She was alive, and she was safe.

She wasn’t trapped in a cocoon, ready to be killed by a psychopath. She wasn’t about to be dismembered or worse, digested by a giant spider who would have liquified her insides to slowly suck them out and… Could Airachnid actually do that? She wasn’t a true spider, was she?

Okay, that was it; he couldn’t watch that documentary anymore.

He was going to have nightmares for weeks, he just knew it.


	31. 31. Dragon - Prime

“Say, do you ever wonder if humans managed to kill Predacons?”

Jack paused in the homework he was busy finishing and looked at Miko. The japanese teenager was sitting in the couch, her chin in her hands as she watched Raf play another race video game with Bumblebee -- and watching the big robot try to operate a human sized-remote was rather fun. Her mind wasn’t in the game, though, if her out-of-the-blue question was any indication

“Humans against Predacons?” he repeated, mind going blank before he winced. “Oh boy, does it conjure bad mental images. I don’t know if you noticed, Miko, but… tiny humans versus giant, fire-breathing lizards? No way we’d be able to survive -- so don’t get any idea,” he warned.

“I’m just asking!” the girl threw her hands in the air. “Think about it; we’re seeking Predacon fossils. That means we had plenty of Predacons here -- and Predacons are dragons, more or less. And then we have all those stories about knights fighting and vanquishing dragons to save princesses, right? Sooo…” she trailed off, playing with one of her pigtails.

Jack blinked, considered. “That’s just stories,” he finally said with a sigh. “Fairy tales. No basis in reality, remember? Humans can’t kill a Predacon.”

“I managed to snuff an Insecticon, and nobody thought an human could!” Miko was quick to point out.

“Yeah, with the missiles on Wheeljack’s ship,” Jack retorted. “Knights didn’t have missiles, so they wouldn’t have won. Plus, the Predacon is bigger than an Insecticon, so I’m not sure it would even suffice!”

Miko huffed. “You’re not fun to discuss with,” she dismissed before trying to focus back on Raf and Bee’s game -- funnily enough, Bumblebee seemed to be winning, if the happy beeps he made were of any indication.

“And you’re crazy,” Jack sighed. He eyed her warily, wondering what she was thinking about. Knowing Miko, he wouldn’t have been surprised if she had been daydreaming about getting in a fist-fight with the Predacon…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's all for this year, ladies and gents. Hope you enjoyed yourself. <3


End file.
